He
by Penelope S Cartwright
Summary: "You don't have to like the people you love."


_**He**_ was there as long as I could remember. Tall, brooding, and, let me tell you, what a grouch. But he was there. My first memory of him was when I was probably four. I wandered into the kitchen, looking for my Mom and cereal when I saw them sitting across from each other, just sipping on coffee. What got me curious was that he was smiling. He never smiled. He had a very nice one, I thought. Once he saw me though, it was wiped off and his face became expressionless. Mom kissed me on the cheek and then sat me down for breakfast. She had a glowing smile. Mom smiling wasn't weird.

She was mostly happy around him.

More often than not, they did fight but it was about passion rather than real anger I came to realize; two stubborn people not backing down from their beliefs. He'd run out of the house in a huff, mount his bike, and tear off like a bat out of hell to go 'cool off' with Uncle James. Mom would cuss under her breath, thinking I couldn't hear the '_that bastard-s'_ and _'what an asshole-s'_ she murmured. Sometimes I heard when he stumbled back in, his leg even more uncooperative from drink, others I'd wake up to him in the kitchen like everything was normal.

Mom and he fought a lot but they could not stay away from each other.

He was there for my first day of kindergarten. Mom had tears in her eyes. He looked aloof and tried to fade into the background of the hustle and bustle of the other mothers and fathers dropping off their children for the first time. He never left her side and didn't shake off her hand when she reached for his.

Oh, the first and only time I called him dad…

He looked terrified and angry all at once. He had never yelled at me before then and he would only yell at me once more years later. I think I scared the living daylights out of him.

"Don't call me that!" he snapped at me.

So I never did. I followed everyone else's example and called him by his last name. My Mom never used his first unless it was to use his whole name as a threat at the beginning of a fight.

I was seven when I got brave enough to ask what happened to his leg. It never occurred to me to ask before and I only did because my friends were wondering. I was so used to him that it was normal for me. Now I was interest because I didn't know the story. Mom looked thoroughly uncomfortable but he sighed and told me in the most clinically sterile tone the story of his infarction. I was so surprised at the role my mother played in _maiming_ him. My little face must have held a hint of righteous fury because he immediately told me it wasn't _totally_ her fault. He had plenty of blame to carry, too.

"She did what was best."

I think it was at that moment that I realized just how deeply he loved her.

I rarely saw moments like that one. Hell, I saw Marina more than I saw him some years. Mom always made the effort to at least play, talk, and read to me every night, no matter how run down she looked. I understood she was a busy woman and I never felt that she neglected me. When it was possible, she made him and I sit at the table for dinner. I would giggle as he whined and complained and said something about catching up on his latest soaps and how the couch was better for his leg. Mom's eyes would glitter as she'd tell him he was such a liar and to shut up and eat.

We weren't the typical American nuclear family but I had more than most people.

Uncle James was certainly my favorite. My aunt Lucinda didn't get along with my Mom and I didn't like my cousins. I still don't. My uncle wasn't even a blood relative and he treated me with more care than my aunt. Yes, I know my Mom would have eviscerated him if anything happened to me, but he seriously did care. _He_ said it was because my uncle was secretly a woman trapped in a man's body and itching to get out. My uncle was his best friend. Other than my Mom, James was the only person who could get him to smile and laugh. When all three would get together, they would wake me up in the middle of the night laughing at whatever soliloquy or latest patient imitation he or James had finished. I'd roll over and fall asleep once the commotion died down.

I was eleven when I found out I was adopted. I wasn't as shocked to hear the truth. Mom took the time to explain everything that had happened to the girl who gave birth to me. She was almost in tears due to my silence but after another minute I hugged her. She was my Mom no matter what. As proven with my Uncle James, blood didn't matter with the people you loved. Later that night, I saw her hugging _him_ close and watched as he comforted her in his own rude way which had her laughing afterwards.

No matter how mad she got or how sad she was, he could make her smile effortlessly. That was one of the only reasons I tolerated him as a teenager.

I guess when you're around so many adults with strong personalities you just grow one of your own. I was a little mouthy to my teachers, but generally respected them so I could get the best grades possible. Mom said it was because he was a bad influence on me. Yes, that and living with two highly opinionated and intelligent people was a factor. She didn't affect me at all, I teased her once. I had several friends. I stayed out of trouble when I could. I was a sophomore when I realized what a stupid thing going up against my Mom and him was.

A senior had asked me to the prom. Innocent. Nothing untoward. I liked him. For some reason, Mom didn't.

"He's too old for you," she said. "You can't go and that's final."

"That's not a valid argument! I'll be 16 in December! He'll be eighteen in June. You and-."

"We're adults! You're in high school! Rachel, it's only one more year until you can go with another guy from your classes."

"Ugh, you're being unfair!" I growled petulantly.

"Life's unfair, sweetie," he interrupted with my hated endearment. "Get used to it."

Of course, I didn't listen. I headed to Gaby's house after s chool the day of the Prom. I turned off my phone. Gaby let me borrow one of her dresses so we changed early and headed over to the guys' house early. We went out to dinner and arrived at the dance an hour late. It was midnight when I finally left the side of the guy. I don't even remember his name now. I was getting a drink from the refreshment table when I felt eyes on me. He was standing against the wall, his eyes narrowed in anger. His cane was being twirled idly between his fingers. For a second I thought of running back into the crowd, losing myself within the sea of sweaty bodies. He couldn't run after me. The guilt hit me all at once though. When I walked up to him, his grin was almost sinister.

"Thank God, you took after your dad." He said in greeting. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

It was silent all the way to our house. He didn't lecture me in the car. He didn't turn on the radio or anything either. Instead of parking in the driveway, he parked off to the side and grabbed my wrist before I was able to reach for the door handle.

"Your mother is in that house, wringing her hands in worry and probably crying her eyes out. I had to put up with it for an hour before I realized the date today. You ever do anything like this to her again and I _will_ make sure your life is a living hell."

"Like you care what happens between her and me."

"I do. I could care less about you, but if it affects her, I care _very_ much."

He let go of my wrist. We stared each down for another minute, the blue of his eyes shining in the dim street light. I turned and went to reach for the door again.

"Rachel…"

I had never seen him look so uncomfortable before. It was another thirty seconds probably before he was able to spit the words out of his mouth.

"I… Your mother is only worried because she loves you so much and trusted you. If anything had happened to you, she would be a nutcase. Don't screw up with her."

I nodded. He had never even remotely opened up like he did that night. I was a little confused by it but I let it go. He was right behind me when I walked into the house in my dress. Mom took one look at me and turned into the Dean of Discipline. The rest of the school year I was on lockdown and made to go to summer school at the local community college. I didn't mind those 'punishments.' I never forgot the haggard look on her face before she saw me. That look of disappoint that crossed her face was more terrifying to me than anything yelled at me. I didn't want to see that look again. They stayed outside my room for a moment while I changed for bed.

"Thank you… for bringing her home," Mom said quietly, her voice muffled. "I forgot about the Prom."

"She was fine. She's a good kid so don't start feeling guilty over this. She was bound to get in a little trouble one day."

"You mean it?"

"Yes. Now let's go to bed."

Mom laughed. I heard them both walk away from the room. Surprisingly, she still trusted me and I didn't do anything like that again. I think he had something to do with that.

He was there when I graduated valedictorian of my high school class. He even bought me roses since he learned it was a tradition at my school to get them for the graduating senior class. His were prettier than Uncle James, but I couldn't tell James that. I suspected he had already pestered James about it all throughout the ceremony. Mom stood next to him, her hair salt and pepper and his more salt than pepper. She was elegance in human form and he looked liked a grizzled lion with his full beard. They suited each other though.

She cried when I left two months later to go to Vassar. I was an English major. He made fun of me for that for weeks and badgered my Mom about it, too, since she was hoping I'd choose premed. I didn't want to be a doctor like them. They were, frankly, work-a-holics. I wanted to enjoy life a bit more. I talked to Mom every two days all semester. She flew in a couple weekends and I would fly back home for holidays. That was how it was for the next four years.

When I graduated, supposedly Mom had forced him to go. He gave me roses again. Mom beamed as I was in the top of the class. I could tell something was wrong though. He leaned more heavily on his cane. His back didn't straighten when he stood up. He seemed a little more out of breath as we walked back to my Mom's rented car. If there was one thing living with him taught me, it was to be observant. No one said a word about it though.

I moved back to Princeton and started the master's program there. I got my own place and worked as a teacher's aid for the British Literature professor. Mom visited me often. I would only see him if I went home. Uncle James and I would have lunches on campus or I would sneak up to his office for a little chat. I'd also hang around to see Doctor Chase who was still gorgeous, even in his early fifties.

Mom was thoroughly surprised I asked him to walk me down the aisle when I got married. He didn't of course. Uncle James gave me away but I'd like to think he was touched. Despite our dislike for each other, he was the closest thing to a father figure I had.

A year after I got my master's and was happily married, he was admitted to Princeton-Plainsboro. Years of drug and alcohol abuse had caught up to him. He needed a new liver and was sure as hell not going to get one. He was too old and too sick. Mom fought hard for the committee to look at his file but they wouldn't. Uncle James would scan the ER for fresh meat but came up empty handed. I was there every day with her. She refused to leave his side. Uncle James stayed the majority of the time, too. I was surprised to see many visitors come and go at all hours of the day and night those last three days.

It was odd when he died. Mom cried over his body but Uncle James pulled her away to take her home. I promised to stay until they moved him to the morgue. He was too big for the bed. He felt too big for the room. His personality filled the hospital daily but it ceased to exist now. For as much as I disliked him, I respected him and loved him because he loved my mother and my uncle until his dying breath. No one said you have to like the people you love. It would be weird not hearing his sarcasm on a daily basis. It would be unusual not having a formidable verbal sparring partner. To be unoriginal, he was one of a kind.

At the memorial, my Mom wore black and was treated as a widow even though the guy never had the guts to marry her. I'm not judging him, but just stating what was true. Silent tears streamed down her face but she held strong. She told me as we dressed that he would have made fun of her for crying. It made her smile watery. James said a few short words, garnered a laugh from the small crowd that had gathered, and tossed the ashes into the bay. Illegally I might add. _He_ would have not wanted it any other way.

Mom and James took it hard for that first year, but once we started on the "Remember that one time when he…" stories, we couldn't stop until our sides hurt with laughter. They were able to move on and be happy. Oh, Mom never took another beau. Even in her old age, she was attractive but not interested. _He_ was her one.

I'll certainly never forget him. I have a taste for good scotch, knowledge of monster trucks and random factoids, and a sharp tongue thanks to him. Maybe I would have been a little more 'normal' but what kind of person would I have become.

Like my mother always said, "Common is boring."

And Gregory House was as uncommon as they come.

* * *

**A ficlet I wrote after seeing "Carrot and Stick" since I love the strange and cute scenes between House and Rachel. Plus, I'm in a bit of a sentimental mood. Please, review and tell me, dear readers, what your thoughts on this piece are. Thanks for reading! [And to those wondering, yes, I'm working on LTM Ch. 10 ;) ] **


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